


Last Twilight

by ewonice



Series: Last Elf [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Age of Men, Aman (Tolkien), Caras Galadhon, Eldarin, Elf Culture & Customs, Elven Lore, Elvish, Emo, Emotional, Entwash, Entwives, Fangorn Forest, Filk, Fluffy, Fourth Age, Gap of Rohan, Gen, Grey Havens, Handmaidens, Laurelindórenan, Lindar (Tolkien), Lindon (Tolkien), Lothlórien, Middle Earth, Misty Mountains, Music, Old Forest (Tolkien), Original Character(s), Original verse, Quenya, Sea of Belegaer, Sea-longing, Second Age, Sindarin, Song Lyrics, Teleri (Tolkien) - Freeform, Third Age, Tree shepherds, Tree-friend, Tree-ish, Undying Lands, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 16:45:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11718408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewonice/pseuds/ewonice
Summary: Teluial, last elf on Middle-earth, whom Lady Galadriel tasked with learning the language and culture of the Ents so as to keep their memory alive in Valinor, wakes one morning to find her Ent charge, Leaflock, going tree-ish. When she learns the Sea-longing is upon her, Teluial must sing farewell to her Enyd friends, which she does in Entish using an instrument she made with wood from the forest floor. Leaflock goes into deep slumber, and Teluial leaves Fangorn Forest, embarking on her journey through the Gap of Rohan to the Grey Havens, where she will meet the ship Galadriel has sent for her.





	Last Twilight

I woke early after a night of restless sleep in my leafy bower, having dreamed again of Valinor. On my way down to the Entwash, the forest river, the air felt heavy, and I found it difficult to remain awake. By nature of its task as shepherd, an Ent developed a subtle form of communication with the trees, and it sometimes happened that Leaflock’s mood would affect those who dwelt in Fangorn—even me, his Elven handmaid—so I rushed down to the meadow to check on him. At first glance, I thought that he had gone tree-ish overnight.

Leaflock, called Finglas in Elvish, resembled a tall oak tree. He stood about thirty feet high, still strong and hale, but in his heart he was weary from the passing of time. He often spoke of finding that deep slumber that more Ents had fallen into since Middle-earth passed into its Fourth Age, a sleep from which none had been known to wake. Now his legs drew together, trunk-like. His face rested so completely that the nose, cheeks, and mouth were nearly indistinguishable from the mossy ridges of the trees around him. 

“Wake up, Leaflock! It’s me! Are you all right?” I touched his rough hide, and he stirred. A low groan rumbled through the Ent’s bole.

“ _Hrummm!_ Teluial, I wish to sleep! I am as old as the hills. Let me rest!”

“Árë Cuivië! _”_ I called out, an Elvish phrase used to stir obstinate sleepers. At my words, the film thinned out from around Leaflock’s eyes, and in their centers a green flame began to shine.

“ _Hoom Hom_. Good morning, tree-friend.” He spoke at a steady, hypnotic pace. “I was just dreaming about the Entwives! We were together, _hruum!_ I could almost guess where we were and yet I knew we were lost. But they were there in my dream and I was with them, such a nice dream, _hoom_.”

“I have never seen you so fast asleep,” I said, brushing leaves from his gnarled feet.

“Well, I am very tired.” He stretched his body so that it creaked and cracked. Then Leaflock reached down and lifted me up in his palm. “How would you like to prune some hard-to-reach branches for me, tree-friend?”

I smiled, the fear of the morning seeping away. There was time yet, time to learn more of the language and culture of the Enyd, before Leaflock and all the rest went tree-ish and even the Elves in Valinor forgot the tree shepherds’ ways.  

I sang a healing song while working on old Leaflock, humming long and low in the manner of the Ent’s liking. I climbed through his branches awhile, plucking diligently at dead limbs until the air grew close, and I nestled against Leaflock to rest. He ran his great finger lightly along the top of my head. I murmured, “What would I do without you.”

He replied in Entish, a rumbling response that stretched on for several minutes: “What _will_ you do, Teluial? Your question has an answer.” I was almost unconscious by the time I took his meaning.

I dreamed of my kin in Valinor singing to Ulmo of the sea to send me home. The air was crisp and the shore blazed with a light that beckoned until my heart ached. Then Lady Galadriel appeared from the west, sailing a white vessel across the sea of Belegaer, and she recited a eulogy for my parents that made me weep. She praised my mother, Arabar, for her life of service as royal handmaid at Caras Galadhon. She praised my father, Thoronthalian, for his sacrifice in the Battle of Lindon. And, glowing with the light of Ilúvatar, Lady Galadriel praised me, Teluial, Last Twilight, for staying here in Middle-earth and serving as Ent steward when all the other Elves had gone _._

She held out a pale hand toward me, palm facing up.

I awoke to find Leaflock eyeing me steadily. “Your time here is done,” he rumbled. “The Sea-longing is upon you.”

“How can you know this?” I countered, startled by his candor. The Sea-longing was a yearning for the journey to Valinor, the Undying Lands to which all my kin had long since sailed.

“I have known you for many seasons. More and more, you are restless and look to the west, towards Valinor and the sea that will be your road there. Do you not feel an itch growing in your roots, Teluial?”

“But if I leave, you will go tree-ish! Oh, please stay awake, Leaflock!” He seemed to drift out of consciousness whenever he wasn’t talking.

“I am old, tree-friend, and yearn to rest. I have dwelt here so long, _hooom_ , longer even than your oldest ancestors. For me this Fourth Age of Middle-earth will be passed in deep sleep.

“I would rather dream of the Entwives,” he went on, “than live in a world where I cannot find them, and a world without Elves, as well! _Hrummm!_ ” He paused, branches drooping. “Your ancestors taught us to speak, so I will mark your passing with silence.”

“But I have not yet mastered Entish. If I leave before I have finished my work, your language will be forgotten!”

“It would take another thousand years for you to master the language of the Enyd, tree-friend. Even then you might not understand it completely, for it is a long, slow tongue, and you are by nature a hasty creature.”

I bowed my head, for I knew it to be true.

“To your credit, you have become almost fluent in merely five hundred years, but I am weary of explaining my native speech and, forgive me, of having to think and speak so quickly for you.”

“But . . .”

“Elves and Ents will never be equaled, but we shall be forgotten ere another generation of Men rules Middle-earth. Already, they speak of us like myths. This is not our time, Teluial. You must go back to your people.”

“But how can it be you are ready to close your eyes and lips for the last time? How could you ever do it?”

“ _Hooom._ ”

We sat in silence, each pondering what the other had said. The birds chirped and the bugs hummed. I breathed deeply, watching the meadow, stemming impatience with the methods Leaflock had shown me. The canopy of trees kept me cool as the sun made its way across the sky, baking the grasslands. It was setting when I finally spoke:

“Perhaps you are right. Every night I dream of my people.”

“They are coming for you, no doubt. Don’t want to keep them waiting, for your kind is not so patient as we Enyd!”

I recalled Galadriel’s outstretched hand and the beckoning gesture of her fingers. I remembered my people singing to Ulmo, and at last I was aware of the Sea-longing like a weight upon my heart. The image of a white ship sailing toward me was a summons.

I sat beside Leaflock well into the night.

“Root and twig! I cannot, stay awake . . . much longer.” Leaflock spoke slowly as if his jaws were stuffed with moss; he could no longer accelerate his speech for my benefit. I was able to postpone his final slumber by my coming, but I could not prevent it.

“Sing to me, tree-friend, as I pass into dreams.”

From the mound of roots near Leaflock’s feet, I brought out my enydanca, an instrument I’d crafted using dead wood from the forest floor. It consisted of a hollowed-out branch that was closed on the bottom but open at the top, with a small hole drilled in the side. The mouthpiece I fashioned from a large reed taken from the Entwash, fit in the side of the resonating tube with wax to seal the graft. When an Elf blows into an enydanca, it sounds like wind groaning through the trees, and with enough practice one can pronounce Entish well enough to be understood.

I put the reed to my lips and sang a verse that was both lullaby and threnody. I had barely begun when the trees rustled. A cool breeze touched my skin, and a rich woody scent filled my nose. Two Ents stepped into the clearing. The starlight showed one to be oakish, the other more like a rowan: Treebeard and Skinbark must have noticed the change in the air just as I.

They stood on either side of Leaflock and joined in my verse, paying last respects to their lifelong comrade:

 

_Our time is nigh,_

_Our day is gone,_

_The light of the Valar fades,_

_Our sojourn here is done,_

_Oh, Enyd, my brothers,_

_Ancient are we,_

_The last of the Elves, our allies,_

_Will soon sail o’er the sea,_

_Ent-folk, take heart,_

_Our song was sung long ago,_

_Not even our strength_

_Can contend with fate._

_Leaflock, take rest_

_And comfort in our presence,_

_You will remain and thrive_

_In the meadow you love so well._

I can tell you what we said, but I could not duplicate the beauty of the verse except in Entish, for every phrase was murmuring and singsong. We sang with one voice though each of us improvised, and in this way our song seemed to create itself.

Once that night, the green flame of his open eyes lit the darkness, and Leaflock said, “I, cannot keep my eyes open. Thank you, Teluial. You lent me purpose, gave my last seasons, meaning.”

I wiped my eyes, then placed my palm against his thick hide.

“ _Hooom,_ ” said Leaflock. Then the green light of his eyes went out, leaving only the candles of Treebeard and Skinbark’s eyes to see by.

We sang together until the sun came up. Morning’s light showed an old oak where Leaflock once stood. His face had disappeared. His limbs were stiff, and his roots dug deep into the ground. He still lived, and I took comfort in this, but there was no longer a place for me in Fangorn.

“You’ll be leaving now, eh, Teluial?” Treebeard said.

“Yes, though I’m afraid I never did master Entish.”

“You have indeed, _haroom!_ You just proved it with that song,” said Skinbark.

“Go now,” Treebeard said. “Keep his memory alive in Valinor.”

“That I do promise.” My chest throbbed with grief, but at the prospect of sitting with other Elves and telling them about Leaflock, my heart felt calmer. “The Elves will always remember the splendor of the Onodrim.”

Treebeard held up his many-fingered hand and smiled. “Farwell, Teluial of Laurelindórenan. Remember, all things will be put right in time. Though we go to sleep we do not die. The day may come after many an age when we awaken.”

“Goodbye, friend,” I said, strapping the enydanca across my back.

“Not so hasty,” Treebeard said. “Let me look on you awhile.”

I stood still to let the tree shepherds savor their last glimpse of Elf-kind. “Treebeard,” I said at last, “as small as I am compared to you, you have never made me feel insignificant.”

I bowed low, then turned to Skinbark, who said only, “Teluial. Lindar. Teleri.”

It was the highest compliment, to call me by the ancient name of my ancestral kin who sang so beautifully, the last of the Elves to arrive in Middle-earth, now last to leave. Once again, I bowed low.

Finally, I turned to Leaflock, placing my hand on his hide, which was changed now to the texture of bark and no longer responded to my touch.

“Goodbye, Finglas, my friend.”

I braided my long hair and fastened it at the end with a piece of vine clipped from old Leaflock.

“If you should meet the Entwives,” Treebeard said, “especially one called Fimbrethil, do tell her I miss her, would you, tree-friend?”

“Of course,” I said. “I will do my best to woo her for you.”

Treebeard thanked me, moving his arms awkwardly.

At last, there was nothing left to do but go, so I turned my back on the Enyd.

My cheeks were wet, and the trail from the meadow blurred before me. Yet even as I wept at our parting, I felt a tingling in the base of my spine. I walked southwest through Fangorn, taking in as much as I could the musty smell and feel of the place. It was ancient beyond reckoning and dark, but it had been my home.

At the forest threshold, the leaves of Fangorn’s trees pointed to the ground, their limbs bowed in farewell. I stepped out into the sun.

My stride lengthened with each step toward the Gap of Rohan. After many miles, I reached the turn that would put me out of sight of Fangorn. Ahead, the sun dipped behind the mountain ridge, beckoning me to follow. I took one last look at my forest glowing in the distance. Then, with the enydanca thumping against my back, I began my ascent into the foothills of the Misty Mountains.

 

**Author's Note:**

> # Appendix
> 
>   * Arabar: “high house” or “noble dwelling,” from Eldarin ara (high or noble) and bar (house or dwelling). Arabar was the name given Teluial’s mother, royal handmaid to Lady Galadriel.
>   * Árë Cuivië: “sunlight awakening,” from Quenya Árë (sunlight) and Sindarin Cuivië (awakening).
>   * Enydanca: “Ent jaw,” from Eldarin Enyd (Ent) and anca (jaw). A woodwind instrument used to mimic the timbres of Old Entish. An Elf proficient with an enydanca can speak Entish well enough to be understood.
>   * Eldarin: the generic term for Elvish, which has several forms, including Quenya, spoken by High Elves, and Sindarin, spoken by the Grey Elves of Middle-earth.
>   * Laurelindórenan: old name for Lothlórien, the land straddling the river Celebrant to the west of the Anduin river, ruled by Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn in the Third Age; literally “Land of the Valley of the Song of Gold,” from Laurelin (younger of the Two Trees of Valinor), dôr (land), and nan (valley).
>   * Lindon: “land of music,” Eldarin name of Ossiriand, a region in northwestern Middle-earth, in the First Age, from lin (sing or make a musical sound) and var. of dôr (land). Lindon was the site of a great confrontation in the War of Elves and Sauron in the Second Age of Middle-earth; the war, which lasted from 1693 to 1700, ended in Sauron’s defeat.
>   * Onodrim: “Ent-folk,” one of the names the Grey-elves gave to the Ents, from Sindarin Onod (Ent) and rim (host, great number).
>   * Teluial: “last twilight,” from Eldarin tel (last) and uial (twilight). Galadriel gave this name to the elf Tuina when the lady agreed to let her stay behind in Middle-earth, while the rest of the Elves sailed to the Undying Lands.
>   * Thoronthalian: Teluial’s father, literally “Dauntless Eagle,” from Sindarin thoron (eagle) and thalion (strong, dauntless).
>   * Valinor: The Undying Lands, located over the sea of Belegaer in the west, from where the Elves came and to where they have all returned, save one.
> 



End file.
